


three iterations of the same story

by arisfocis, kyvtae



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blaze Hybrid Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Relationship Study, Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, Winged Alexis | Quackity, minor beeduo!, mostly - Freeform, so sorry fiancetwt this wasn't the food i meant to give you, some creative liberty has been taken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisfocis/pseuds/arisfocis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyvtae/pseuds/kyvtae
Summary: There are no second chances in this world.He knows this. Knows it like the back of his hand, too intimately, and he regrets it now, safe in the warm confines of Kinoko.“Where did I go wrong?” Sapnap asks, words muffled. “What did I do?”Karl sighs, deeply. “None of us did anything wrong, Sap,” he says. “I think—I think, in some ways, it was just the inevitable coming to meet us.”His words hold the weight of too many lives lived.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 44
Kudos: 117





	three iterations of the same story

**Author's Note:**

> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1X7bowWtMq47p91mfnRFSD?si=IOkNOElRRlye-dRQLDA5mA)

He’s happy. 

For the first time in a while, Quackity is truly _happy_.

He stumbles a bit on the entrance to their house, catching himself with fluttering wings as he pushes open the door. “I’ve done it!” he shouts, looking for approval in their eyes, love on their lips, anything, _anything_ to tell him that his fiancés are proud of him. He must look a bit unhinged, with his mismatched eyes and long spindly scar snaking up his face doing nothing to help his case. 

Karl turns from his brewing stand to stare at Quackity inquisitively, searching for a clue in his expression. Slowly, tentatively, Karl smiles. “What’s up, Duck?”

Quackity lights up, wings twitching behind him. “I’ve finally figured out how to finance all these projects for Kinoko Kingdom!” he tells Karl, sunshine in his voice. “So, like—you know how resource levels are all fucked everywhere else that’s not—well, here? After the wars?”

Karl nods, encouraging Quackity to continue.

“Well, yeah, so, I was thinking that we could farm and mine and shit here and then sell it there with, uh, mildly jacked-up prices? Cause, you know, everyone who hasn’t left yet is stuck with shit land and overused surroundings, right—”

Karl interrupts him. “Quack, do you even hear yourself?” he asks, confused, disappointed. “You… want to take advantage of people who have no other option? For our personal benefit?”

Quackity frowns. “Well, no, it’s not like _that_ … I mean, like yeah, I guess it’s a little bit like that,” he says, laughing slightly, “but I _swear_ it’s not that shit! Just—”

“Just _what,_ Quack? You’re _just_ going to manipulate these people into buying from you? You’re _just_ going to antagonize people who don’t know any better than—than—war, all the time? _Just what?_ ” Karl says, equal parts sarcastic and serious.

Quackity’s eyes are round, a stark contrast to the laughter in his voice just seconds earlier. He opens his mouth to respond— 

—but he stops when he hears the front door open. Karl’s eyes shift away from him, looking to the entrance with apprehension. Quackity feels his own fear reflected in Karl’s eyes, the fear that something else has gone terribly wrong near the ruins of New L’Manberg, that the person who walks over the threshold will bring the news that shatters their illusion of an idyllic existence— 

It’s just Sapnap.

Quackity’s wings droop in relief.

Sapnap shuts the door and turns towards the two of them, ponytail swinging. “God, I have the prettiest boyfriends on this whole damn server,” he says, oblivious to the tension. “Anyways, what happened while I was out?”

Karl goes bright red in response to Sapnap’s words. Quackity is torn between laughing at him and comforting him. 

“Sap, we’re _fiancés._ Not boyfriends. Get it right,” Quackity scolds, wiggling the fingers on his left hand to show off his ring. Karl squeaks.

Sapnap grins knowingly at Quackity and winks at Karl before turning around to hang his coat up. “Man, it’s fucking freezing out there,” he grumbles lightheartedly. “We should have chosen somewhere with nicer weather to settle down. Not _here_.” 

Karl laughs, the color on his cheeks subsiding. “You’re just a baby, Sap,” he says, teasingly.

“I’m _your_ baby, though, right?” Sapnap giggles as Karl buries his head in his hands. Quackity rests a gentle hand on the small of Karl’s back, Karl leaning into him in response. Sapnap drops a kiss onto Quackity’s cheek before moving past them to start dinner, and everything feels so _normal,_ so _right_ , that Quackity almost forgets the events that happened just minutes prior.

Almost. 

♔

Karl has hope today.

 _They didn’t die,_ he thinks. _Or. Well. Ranboo’s counterpart died._

But Sapnap and Quackity hadn't, and Karl’s learning to count his blessings in this cursed world. He remembers Mason’s bloody-sharp grin, every last one of Jack’s teasing remarks, the two of them poking and prodding at his “city-boy” mannerisms until Karl had collapsed in laughter between the two of them.

Their behaviours are always replicated, across every timeline, in every world—Sapnap's biting remarks and his heart too big for his body, Quackity’s slanting little smile and his quick-wittedness, and it’s never a curse until it _is_ , until Karl has to watch them die again and again and again.

Karl thinks it’s terrible, really, that the clarity he has in the in-between never lasts. He remembers everything, _everyone_ , then—every iteration of Quackity, of Sapnap, of him, of their friends and their enemies, over and over again. 

It leaves him a little empty, every time he returns to his world. When he can’t remember who was allied with who, when he can’t remember why or how the wars ended, when he can’t remember _what_ he’s supposed to know _,_ even.

Last week, he’d forgotten their anniversary. 

But. But! Now is not the time for that. Karl is in the in-between, and he’s working on his memory retention, and he remembers Sapnap and Quackity and every last moment they’ve shared, and he feels so _hopeful._

That’s what makes it all the worse, then, when he stumbles back into his original timeline. Their home is silent, empty, both Quackity and Sapnap’s shoes gone from their places beside the door, and Karl doesn’t want to freak out, he _doesn’t_ , but he’s rapidly losing the residual clarity of the in-between, and he’ll need someone to ground him soon and _there’s no one home—_

He only realizes he’s begun crying when he feels the solid weight of someone’s hands grasping his shoulders.

In front of him, Sapnap swims into focus. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Karl can you breathe for me?” 

Karl barely registers his words. “Where’s—where’s Quackity, please, I need him too—” he chokes out, voice wavering.

Quackity appears in the doorway, almost as though by command, and Karl feels himself relax, the weight of decades and decades of memories unraveling in the presence of his fiancés. 

“Duckie,” he says, breathless, quiet, “Sap.” The tears are still silently running down his cheeks, and he’s sure he must be a mess, face blotchy and red, eyes crazed—

But they know, don’t they? The three of them, they were forged in war, in fire and flame—they know what it means to be broken and healing. 

“You wanna sleep, for now?” Quackity murmurs, already guiding the three of them towards their room.

Sapnap’s radiating heat, and Quackity’s wings are enveloping them, and they’re on their bed, and Karl is _tired_ —he is asleep in minutes. 

The nightmares do not come, today.

He does not hear their whispers above him.

♔

Sapnap is tired.

He is tired, and scared, and worried.

His skin itches with the heat building up underneath it. Sapnap resists the urge to scream, to destroy, to break something. The fire in his veins _crawls_ , a many-legged insect forcing its way through him, up his limbs, over the soft hairs on the back of his neck— 

He shudders.

He feels like crying. 

Dream’s voice still echoes in his head. Not so much the words themselves, which had worried him enough on their own, but more so his tone. The quiet resolve behind his words, voice edged with steel. 

_Eventually._

Not a threat. A promise.

Sapnap shudders again. Breathes. Opens the door to their house.

It’ll be empty, he already knows. Karl had told him that morning that he’d be out—diplomacy something or the other, Sapnap had been too sleepy to process—and Quackity’s been out for more than a week.

Sapnap tries not to think about that. 

He’s almost on autopilot now, methodical in his movements—taking off his boots, his coat, making his way to the kitchen. Pulling out the ingredients from chest after chest.

The sun is setting by the time Karl comes home, golden light flooding into the kitchen from the windows. Sapnap is nursing a glass of water at the kitchen table when Karl steps in, worry already etched in the lines on his face.

“Sap, what’s wrong?” Karl asks, voice soft. 

Sapnap snorts. “How did you know?”

“It smells like cinnamon. You have a tendency to stress bake.”

“I visited Dream today,” he says, unable to look Karl in the eyes. He had promised Karl he wouldn’t, afraid of what would happen, but a small part of him had pushed and pushed and pushed until he gave in. _He_ was _your best friend, at some point_ . _Give him a second chance._

There are no second chances in this world. 

He knows this. Knows it like the back of his hand, too intimately, and he regrets it now, safe in the warm confines of Kinoko.

Karl walks closer, hands out in a placating gesture meant to soothe his worries as Sapnap buries his head into his chest, pushing his loaded plate of apple scones away.

“Where did I go wrong?” Sapnap asks, words muffled. “What did I _do_?” 

Karl sighs, deeply. “None of us did anything wrong, Sap,” he says. “I think—I think, in some ways, it was just the inevitable coming to meet us.” 

_His words hold the weight of too many lives lived,_ Sapnap thinks. _We’ve all lived too much._

Karl sighs again. “We’ll be okay. He’s in prison, he’s not getting out—no matter what he says, okay?” he tells Sapnap, searching for acknowledgement in his eyes. “He’s not getting out. We’re going to be okay, the three of us.”

Sapnap nods and nudges the plate of scones towards Karl. “They’re warm, still. Just came out of the oven.”

Karl smiles, a quiet little thing, and Sapnap feels some of the weight lift off of his shoulders, with it. 

They eat, and the sun sets on Kinoko with the promise of a peaceful dawn, and Sapnap dares to hope.

♔

They’ve just finished eating when Quackity brings it up again.

“I made a deal with Manifold,” he says, casually, off-handedly, in the hopes that Karl and Sapnap will just acknowledge it and move on.

Karl stills by the sink, dishes still in hand.

Sapnap hums, not noticing. “What’s that all about, then?” he asks, clueless, jovial.

“I told Karl this, the other day,” Quackity says, slowly, as though he was approaching a feral animal. “Didn’t get to finish, though. It was just—I figured out how to finance the development of Kinoko.”

He pauses. Clears his throat. Looks at Karl and looks away just as fast.

“I, uh, decided to sell resources to the people near New L’Manberg,” he says. Keeps it innocuous, hopes that neither of them will prod.

He hears Karl sigh, disappointed. Quackity hopes that he’s imagining it.

Sapnap frowns. “What… how—why does Karl look mad about that? And what the hell are the margins for you to be able to finance _all_ of our projects?” he asks, suspicion creeping into his voice.

 _This was inevitable,_ Quackity thinks. _This was inevitable. You have to do this._

“They’re… the margins are, um, high,” he says, vaguely. “Everyone’s desperate. No one wants to see their children starving, you know, and it was better me than some other twisted opportunist, right?”

Sapnap groans. “Mother of god. What the fuck have you _done_.”

“Come sit down,” Karl says to Quackity, quietly. 

“Duck,” Sapnap says. “What the _fuck?_ ”

Quackity seizes on the pet name, optimism rushing to his head, before he fully registers what Sapnap is saying. “Well, you know, I just—I wanted better for us! We’ve—I mean—it’s been fucking _hard_ , Sap, and having that breathing room means that we can get better, right? Together?” he says, voice trailing off at the end.

“At the expense of other people, Quackity? Is that what we do, now?” Karl demands, voice uncharacteristically hard and disdain weighing down every word. “Is that what we lived through wars and fighting and revolutions for? To become the enemies we once dreaded?”

Sapnap is silent.

It is not like Sapnap, to be silent. 

_Hope is a fickle thing,_ Quackity thinks as he searches Sapnap’s face for the signs of disapproval. They’re all there—clenched jaw, furrowed brow, fire in his eyes—and Quackity is afraid. 

He is a coward, in the end, and yet he still keeps pushing _._

He doesn’t know whether that’s a testament to his persistence or his headstrong nature. _One and the same, really._

“Sapnap,” Quackity says, “fucking _say_ something.”

Sapnap groans, finally, face covered by his hands, elbows resting on the table. Karl’s gaze ping-pongs between the two of them, angry, nervous, fretting.

Quackity remains silent. Waiting. 

“What did you do with Manifold,” Sapnap says, finally. It’s barely a question.

“Got 6 diamonds for leather,” Quackity says, preening in spite of himself, before rushing to tack on a defense. “But, like, he stole the fucking hotel from Tommy, anyways! He’s no worse than I am.”

Sapnap sneers. “‘No worse than I am,’ huh? You’re _proud_ of being just as bad as an opportunistic, unempathetic fuckwad?”

Quackity’s wings flare back, tensed and stiff. “That’s not fucking _fair,_ Sapnap, and you know it.”

Sapnap sips his water. Sets it down with a heavy hand. Gives Quackity a long apprehensive look.

“Isn’t it, Quackity?” he asks, fire blazing low and deadly in his eyes. “Tell me, how _is_ it any different? How are you different from Manifold, hell—” he flings an arm out as though to punctuate his sentence— “how are you any different from _Schlatt?”_

Quackity recoils. He hears Karl gasp, softly.

“Yeah, I said it,” Sapnap says, derisively. Quackity watches Karl set a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder, as though to calm him down, but Sapnap just shrugs it off and continues on his tirade. 

“Look at yourself!” he exclaims. “You’re talking about innocent fucking people like they’re your prey, scamming them out of their money because they have no other choice! You’re saying it’s for us, for our country, for our stability, but isn’t that exactly what Schlatt said, too? Promised a lot of things, didn’t he, and look at where that’s left us?” he asks, hurt bleeding into his voice, breathing hard.

“Doomed to repeat history, apparently,” he finishes, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Quackity can feel his wings trembling behind him, forces himself to tuck them down even as he reminds himself that _Schlatt’s dead, there’s no one you have to hide your wings from, he’s dead, he’s gone forever—_

A phantom pain flashes it’s way across the area where his wings connect to his torso.

Quackity breathes, each shuddering inhale and exhale marred by his tears.

He can’t stop fucking remembering.

 _Fucking useless,_ a voice from the back of his head berates. _Don’t know why you’re still around when all you are is a waste of time._

The voice is not his.

 _I’m not a waste of time,_ Quackity refutes, feebly. His heart does not believe it.

“I need to go,” he says, voice shaky, and he’s out the door before he registers Karl’s weak protests.

♔

 _Being home alone is really fucking weird,_ Sapnap thinks. It’s been so odd since Quackity had took flight—both literally and metaphorically—the gap always present, always persistent. It’s gotten worse as Karl leaves and comes back sporadically, and Sapnap _knows_ not to question him, but—

It’s hard. He’s lonely.

Sapnap pushes his glasses back up his nose and blinks, trying to refocus on the book open in front of him. 

He’s reread the first paragraph on the page at least three times when his communicator buzzes, startling him out of his daze. 

_It’s Karl,_ he notices. _But—_

His heart sinks, leaded, rests in his stomach.

It reads:

_Hello._

_I need help and I don’t know who to go to_

_You were the last person in my communicator._

And _Jesus,_ Sapnap knew this had been a long time coming, knew that Karl had been losing his memory since early January at least, but _fuck_ if this wasn’t a sucker punch to the gut.

He responds:

_i can help you._

_where are you?_

He receives a set of coordinates back within seconds. 

Sapnap pulls off his reading glasses and sets them on the table next to his book. There’s a pen and a pad of sticky notes on the windowsill closest to the door ( _Karl used to leave little notes for the two of us, when he was more coherent_ , Sapnap remembers, briefly, and then tries not to think about how that makes him feel). 

He scratches out a note addressed to Quackity in the off-chance that he comes home in the time it takes to bring Karl back from wherever he is and leaves it in the chest outside their door. Pulls on his coat and grabs a spare for Karl, just in case, throws food into his pack before leaving the house and locking the door behind him.

Thankfully, _thankfully,_ the coords that Karl has sent him are nearby. The time it takes Sapnap to get to him passes quickly, and it’s not long before he spies Karl sitting on some curbside.

He speeds up until he’s nearly standing over Karl. It’s only then that he looks up and makes eye contact with Sapnap.

“Who are you?” Karl asks, voice unsure, soft.

Sapnap’s heart crumbles a little, hope splintering in his chest.

The bags underneath Karl’s eyes are so dark that his eyes look sunken fully into their sockets. His face is pale, worry etched into his features and shoulders tensed. He’s twisting the ring on his left hand, nervously—mannerisms the same, even if he barely remembers who he is or why that ring matters— 

Sapnap swallows.

“I’m—I’m your friend,” he says, finally, definitively. Sadly. He offers a hand to Karl, who hasn’t moved from his spot on the ground. “I can take you home.”

Karl blinks up at Sapnap, eyes confused, desperate. “I’m supposed to know you,” he says, voice wavering. “I should know you. I remember you but I—I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sapnap says, as kindly as he can, like he’s speaking to a lost child. “I’ll help you in a bit.”

Karl takes Sapnap’s proffered hand and hoists himself up. They walk home surrounded by an uncomfortable, eerie silence.

Sapnap wishes Quackity was with him.

When Sapnap and Karl enter their home, they’re greeted by a rush of warm air. Karl shudders slightly, the bagginess of his sweatshirt made more evident by the movement.

Sapnap _swears_ that it wasn’t that loose a month ago. He blinks.

“Okay, here, wait, let me get you some food and then we can go through the remembering process, ‘kay?” Sapnap offers, moving into the kitchen. “You can stick around in the living room, if you want?”

Karl responds, voice mildly muffled with distance. “We have a process?” he asks, bewildered, like a child lost in an amusement park. “Dear God.”

Sapnap nearly laughs at that, equal parts amusement and sheer fucking shock. _How the fuck did I get here,_ he thinks, stirring the milk in the saucepan. 

When he walks back into the living room, two cups of hot cocoa in hand, he finds Karl standing by the fireplace. He’s looking at one of the photos they have framed and sitting on the mantle. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be an older photo—Quackity doesn’t have the facial scar he does now, and his wings are spread around Karl and Sapnap’s shoulders. The three of them are mid-laugh, Karl blurry with motion, Sapnap placing a theatrical kiss on Quackity’s cheek. 

Sapnap stills in the middle of the room. Karl turns around.

“Sapnap,” Karl says. “Who are you, to me?”

Sapnap sets the mugs down on their coffee table. The resounding _thud_ it makes feels like a judgement passed, like a gavel brought down after a decision. 

“You know, right?” Sapnap says, weakly. “Don’t—don’t make me say it, please.”

“You’re—you’re my husband. Or, no, my fiancé,” he corrects, mumbling something about _not being able to keep timelines straight anymore_ and Sapnap wants to ask, so badly, but it was the one boundary that his non-amnesiac Karl had set and—

“Then—Jesus, where is Drew— _fuck_ , no, um, Quackity? Where is he?”

Sapnap sighs, heavily. “Sit down for me?” he offers instead. Karl remains standing by the fireplace, eyes still searching, inquisitive.

Sapnap hesitates. “He’s—he’s out right now. Been out for a while,” he says, before rushing to tack on more information in response to the panic rising in Karl’s eyes. “Not—not like that! The three of us had an argument but he’s fine, it’ll just be a bit before he’s back, okay? I’m still here, I’m always here, okay?” He mimes exaggeratedly large breaths, prompting Karl to join him.

Karl is breathing. _It’s okay. It’s okay,_ Sapnap tells himself, even as the hopelessness threatens to drown him. _Karl’s here now. Q will be here. It’s okay._

“Does it have to do with money?” Karl asks after a few beats of silence, like he already knows the answer.

Sapnap hesitates. “I mean, yeah.”

“Q’s a capitalist, huh,” Karl says, with a weak grin. It falls after a few seconds, the effort of keeping the facade up evidently too much. “Jesus. He leaves all the time now, in every other—” 

He stops himself from finishing the sentence. His voice sounds so feeble and broken to Sapnap’s ears that he doesn't know how he’s supposed to stay put together for long enough to actually comfort Karl, to help him piece together their reality even as he _forgets and forgets and forgets_.

“You were gone, too, you know,” he says instead, softly, hopelessly. “I was alone here.”

Karl makes a strangled noise of hurt, of pain, and Sapnap immediately wishes he could swallow his words. 

“Fuck, okay, wait., I’m sorry, Karl,” Sapnap says, scrambling to apologize. “That’s kinda shit of me, I’m sorry, sit down for me?”

Karl sits down, body weight dropping like a bag of rocks onto the sofa with a squeak of the springs.

“Drink, yeah?” Sapnap says, picking up one of the mugs and holding it out towards him. “We can sleep and then talk about this later, when you’re feeling better. Your memory usually gets better after you’ve had a nap.”

Karl takes the mug from Sapnap’s hands and downs it all in nearly one go, like he’s a starving Victorian orphan Sapnap’s picked up off the street— _which, objectively, is not_ that _far from the truth,_ Sapnap thinks—and then looks to Sapnap once more. “Do you have any more food?” Karl asks, hoarsely.

Sapnap beams.

♔

Karl sighs. Again.

 _That’s the third time,_ Karl thinks, once he realizes what he’s done. Not that he’s counting, no—

He’s counting. 

He’s fretting.

It’s a bad habit of his, really. Doesn’t help his anxiety, doesn’t do anything of worth except for leave Karl like he’s always missing something, always forgetting.

His thoughts are whirring again, proceeding on their regular downward spiral into suppressed panic when Sapnap groans again and cuts his train of thought off short.

“Karl,” Sapnap says, turning towards him, “I’m so fucking _worried._ ”

“That makes two of us, then,” Karl snaps, voice bitter, and then regrets it immediately. “Sorry, Sap,” he adds, softer. “It’s—yeah. It’s hard for me too.”

“Just, like—” Sapnap pauses, frustrated. “This is the longest he’s been away, and I feel so fucking guilty. Like, I drove him away, right?” His eyes are sad, searching for an answer—a confirmation, a denial.

Karl averts his gaze and hopes Sapnap doesn’t press. 

Sapnap sighs. “I mean, yeah. I don’t know what I expected. It’s hard, Karl, I feel like I’m watching history repeat, cause, like—this basically happened with Dream, right? And—” Sapnap’s voice breaks—“he was my best friend, Karl. I can’t watch this happen to Quackity too, come on,” he says, pleading.

Karl lets his head fall back against the sofa. _Watching history repeat. If only he knew._

He wants to let it all out.

He remembers that he can’t. Lets out a soft noise of acknowledgement instead. Shifts, rests his head on Sapnap’s shoulder.

 _He’s running warm,_ Karl realizes. _Probably because of the excessive amount of energy he’s tamping down, for my sake._

He moves again, turning to face Sapnap, and releases his hair from the white headband holding it in place. His hair falls over his head, soft and dark, and Karl sets aside the headband in favor of running his fingers through it, gently untangling the little knots he finds. Sapnap melts into his touch easily, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s nice,” he murmurs. “Thank you, Karl.”

“Yeah, baby,” he says, dizzying amounts of affection sweeping through him.

“Wonder how Quackity’s doing,” Sapnap mumbles, eyes still shut. “He always got us to help him preen, and it’s been more than a month that he’s gone now.”

The thought settles heavy into the recesses of Karl’s mind. He blinks rapidly, opens his mouth to speak. Shuts it again. 

“I hope he’s doing okay,” Karl says, finally. “He’d come back to us if it got bad, right?” He’s asking Sapnap just as much as he’s asking himself, but the doubt is now sitting in his head like an earworm that never really stops playing, and Karl knows this is going to bother him until the next time he travels, until the next time he inevitably forgets.

He doesn’t know if it’s a mercy or a punishment. 

Karl sees Sapnap nodding off under his touch, and he stops at that. Uses two fingers to tilt Sapnap’s chin up, until he blinks drowsily at Karl.

“Go to bed,” Karl urges gently.

“You’ll stay behind for him?” Sapnap asks, sitting up slowly. It had become a sort of unspoken pact over the last few weeks, that one of them would always be alert and at home in the case Quackity came home. 

“Yeah,” Karl says, “go on, then.” Sapnap obliges easily, though not before dropping a kiss on Karl’s head. 

“Make sure to get me when you get tired, ‘kay?” Sapnap says as he leaves the room. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Karl says in response, much too quietly to have been heard.

He spends the next few hours puttering around their homes, fixing things he’s been meaning to get around to. The sky is beginning to lighten when Sapnap stumbles out of their shared room, yawning.

“Morning, Sap,” Karl says. “You’re up early.”

“Had a bad night,” he mumbles. “Nothing anyone could have done. You wanna nap for a bit?”

Karl shakes his head. “I think we have to figure some stuff out with the others, today, anyways. Ranboo and Tubbo are visiting us.” 

Sapnap hums, moving past Karl into the kitchen. “Coffee today?” he asks, already pulling out a mug for himself.

“I’ll get jittery.”

“That’s why I asked, babe,” Sapnap responds smoothly. “Maybe you should take, like, a little nap. A catnap. Before Ranboo and Tubbo drop by.”

“I think I’m okay, Sap,” Karl says. “I don’t think I’d have enough time to do that, anyways.” 

Almost as if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Karl flinches minutely before he realizes that _it’s literally just Tubbo and Ranboo_. He moves out of the kitchen to let them into the house. 

When Karl swings open the door, he’s welcomed with the sight of Ranboo and Tubbo, stiff-backed and straight-necked and holding—a baby?

Sapnap joins them at the doorway almost immediately. “Hey, guys! You—“ he pauses. “Uh, nice kid you’ve got there, Ranboo?”

“Hi,” Ranboo says, dignified, almost inflection-less. “Yeah. His name’s Michael. Tubbo and I adopted him. Also, we’re married.” 

_As if getting married and adopting a baby was the most uneventful thing that could happen to him,_ Karl thinks, before realizing that it was, in fact, among the more normal things to happen in Ranboo’s life.

“That’s—that’s a lot,” Karl says, hoping he’s not revealing how utterly confused he is by all of this. “Come in?” He moves aside to allow them to step inside. 

Ranboo’s already handed Michael off to Sapnap by the time Karl comes back with food for all of them. Sapnap’s bouncing Michael in his lap, creating little sparks for the child to play with. Michael giggles at one particularly intense bout of sparks and—

Oh, _god,_ Karl wants this, wants it for the three of them so desperately. The weight of it hits him like a truck, sudden and present and relentless. He wants to realize those dreams of two-point-five kids, green lawn and a white picket fence—

Karl shakes his head, as though to cast aside those thoughts. _That’s impractical,_ he tells himself, and tries not to look at Sapnap babying Michael. 

Ranboo and Tubbo are talking softly on the other sofa. Ranboo sits ramrod-straight, shoulders tense, like he’s always waiting to be attacked, while Tubbo relaxes in a jarring contrast, sunk into the sofa and leaning onto Ranboo’s shoulder with a somewhat dopey grin. 

Karl clears his throat and steps in, setting the snacks down on their rickety little coffee table.

“His name’s Michael Beloved-Underscore,” Tubbo tells Karl proudly, after watching him glance back and forth from the child to the two of them. 

“He was alone,” Ranboo adds, almost in perfect response to the questions running through Karl’s head. “And—you know.” He gestures helplessly. “He’s a baby. We couldn’t let him get hurt.”

Karl thinks about the _we_ , and how fast Ranboo and Tubbo have become a unit, and then he thinks about the _baby_ , and how the pair are still barely adults themselves, and then he decides not to think too hard about all of it.

“Well. I’m glad,” Karl says, definitively. “You did the right thing.”

Ranboo relaxes, minutely. “That—that means a lot, Karl,” and there’s _something_ that’s bled into his normally monotone diction—relief, release, understanding.

Sapnap coos from the corner of the room. “Karl! Karl, come hold Michael—” he pauses, turns towards Ranboo and Tubbo. “That’s okay, right?” 

Tubbo laughs. “I’d trust him more with Karl than I would with you, Lavaboy,” he says, and Karl thinks he hears Ranboo chuckle softly at that, too.

Sapnap is passing Michael to Karl as he grumbles. “I’m not _that_ bad, Tubbo,” he says, drawing out his words. “It’s just that no one believes in my ability to reform myself.”

Michael settles into Karl’s arms and Karl barely has time to think about how light he is before Michael raises one hand up and smacks his palm onto Karl’s cheek. “Ow!” he exclaims, laughing.

“Hah,” Ranboo says. “Tubbo, that’s your fault, I think.”

“What, me?” Tubbo asks indignantly. “I’m his _father_! I’m teaching him self defense skills!”

They chat for a while more, about Snowchester, about Kinoko Kingdom, about various other things. The rain begins coming down at some point, and Michael begins fussing quietly in Karl’s arms. He hands him over to Ranboo who begins soothing him almost instinctively.

“He’s like me,” Ranboo jokes, a rare grin on his face. Michael’s almost fully asleep in his arms. “Scared of the water. At least _I_ have a reason.”

“You’re a good father,” Karl tells him.

“I do try,” Ranboo says, equal parts flippant and serious. _I would die for him,_ his eyes say, round and earnest and mournful.

Karl looks away. _I can’t do this today._

The rain’s stopped, the storm clouds beginning to clear. The muted late-morning light streams into the room from the windows. Sapnap opens his mouth to say something when a resounding _crash_ comes from the roof. 

The realization Karl feels is almost immediately mirrored in Sapnap’s face, and Ranboo and Tubbo seem to understand, too, after a moment’s delay.

Ranboo offers Karl a gentle, knowing smile. “That’s our cue, then,” he says, carefully transitioning a sleeping Michael from his arms to the sling strapped across his chest. Tubbo pulls on his coat and gathers the trio’s things with startlingly calm efficiency, the laughter in his eyes that had been present not minutes earlier already vanished without a trace. 

_They paint quite the picture,_ Karl thinks. Ranboo holds himself with a gentle sort of grace, one arm supporting Michael’s weight and the other resting on Tubbo’s shoulder. The twin scars snaking down his face seem to be deeper than they were earlier. Tubbo stands firm under the weight of Ranboo’s hand, pride and strength evident in the set of his shoulders. 

“We’ll be on our way, now,” Ranboo says, a quiet resolve lacing his words. “Stay safe.” 

“We’re in Snowchester when you need us,” Tubbo adds, an unspoken promise in the words. 

And just like that, with a swish of fabric, they’ve left.

Sapnap’s eyes are round when he looks to Karl. “Upstairs,” he says, and Karl nods. 

Quackity is a miserable sight, really. His face is streaked with dirt, scar nearly hidden despite how jarring it is, normally. His wings are waterlogged and droopy, no longer the creamy off-white that Karl saw last—instead, they’re dull and dirty, with even the odd gold feather muted under everything else. Karl thinks he spies blood, too, and tries not to think about that for the time being.

“Duck,” Karl breathes out, in equal parts relief and fear. Quackity sways on his feet and nearly stumbles as he takes a step.

“Karl,” he says. “Sap.” His voice sounds so small, so broken, that it’s all Karl can do to not break down on the spot. He looks, desperately, to Sapnap.

Sapnap rushes forward to hold Quackity up and Karl follows, a moment later. 

Quackity begins mumbling near-deliriously as they prop him up against their bodies, but Karl can barely make out what he’s saying even though he’s right next to him. It dawns on him, with growing horror, that Quackity is muttering apologies, tears streaking two clean lines down his face.

“Quackity, please, breathe for us, okay?” Karl says as he helps Sapnap maneuver him down the stairs. Quackity has essentially become deadweight in their arms, swaying on his feet with exhaustion.

“You can talk, after,” Sapnap offers, to satisfy Quackity. “Let us get you cleaned up, first, okay, yeah?”

Quackity mumbles something and then nods, slowly, and Karl feels some sort of hysterical laugh creeping up his throat. _Jesus Christ._

Cleaning him up is more difficult than it seems like it would be, at first, because Quackity is falling asleep every three minutes and refuses to cooperate with them in that half-awake state. Sapnap and Karl have also elected to mostly avoid his wings until he’s conscious enough to tell them whether that’s okay, and so washing him up and getting him into dry clothes is a tense, quiet ordeal. Karl’s avoided Sapnap’s eyes at least three separate times by the time they’re able get Quackity into their shared bed, and he knows that Sapnap knows this,too.

“Fuck,” Sapnap whispers, once Quackity’s fully asleep in their bed. “Jesus. It’s bad.”

The words knot themselves oddly around the emotion in Karl’s throat, and so he chooses to just make some weak noise of acknowledgement and then lean his body weight onto Sapnap.

“It’s gonna be a weird conversation,” Karl says, later, quietly. Sapnap sighs, resigned.

Quackity begins to stir hours later, when the sun has not yet set but has begun to take on a warmer tone. Karl and Sapnap haven’t left the room except for the briefest of moments, both intimately familiar with the disorientation that comes with passing out and waking up at random intervals.

He rises slowly at first. It’s almost mesmerizing, watching him blink drowsily in the early evening sun, feathers rippling as he tenses and relaxes. Gold light washes over his features, and Karl is reminded of when they first fell in love. 

It’s simultaneously a comforting and terrifying feeling.

And then—a switch seems to flip in Quackity’s head. He scrambles to sit straight up, and Sapnap jerks awake next to Karl at almost the same time.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” Karl says, attempting to mask the anxiety he feels winding up in his stomach. “It’s actually, like, around 4 pm, but, you know.” He shrugs.

“Karl,” Quackity says, and his eyes are tired, knowing. “Stop pretending to be fine.” 

“Well, I mean,” Karl says, voice more shaky than he would have liked it to be, “I wouldn’t have to, if you hadn’t _left_ for—for however long you did, you know?” 

_I didn’t want to escalate this that fast,_ Karl thinks, internally wincing.

“Jesus, Karl,” Quackity says. “Sapnap fucking—fucking compared me to _Schlatt,_ and you expected me not to get upset? I know _you_ dislike Schlatt, the both of you—how do you fucking think it was for me?”

Karl pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to sink his entire body into the armchair. “I was _scared,_ Duck,” he says, voice small. “It's not like I was the one who called you that, but I had to deal with you being out of reach for a month, too, right?”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it, though,” Quackity retorts, a fragile quality to his voice despite the abrasive nature of his words. “You weren’t exactly telling him to stop.” 

Karl falls silent.

Sapnap opens his mouth, and then pauses. His hands are neatly clasped in his lap, as though in restraint, in caution, and his face is lined with equal parts guilt and worry and anger. 

“Quack,” Sapnap says. “I lashed out. I’m sorry for doing that. But, you know, I still think Karl and I are kind of justified in our fears, you know? It doesn’t take a lot for a well-meaning person to become something else, and I’ve seen it happen too many times for me to watch it happen to you, too.”

 _The road to hell is paved with good intentions,_ Karl tacks on, in his head. 

Quackity’s eyes narrow. “I’m—I’m fucking doing it _for_ you guys,” he says. “You have got to be shitting me.”

“Wait, wait,” Sapnap says, placatingly. He clambers onto their bed and settles across from the two of them. His calmness is almost completely out of character, but the last month has worn both of them down, eroded the edges that used to cut so deep. 

“Wait,” Sapnap says, one more time, settled in his new spot. “Duck, look. I know why you’re trying to do this and it means a lot, it does, but I just think that I have too much apprehension about this to start without talking through it,” he says. “I think—”

“Don’t—don’t tell me I have to stop,” Quackity says, desperately. “Please don’t, Sap, come on,” he continues, but his words fade into static as Karl studies him, his mannerisms, his expressions.

It seems almost too perfectly put-on, and Karl _hates_ himself for thinking it, but all he is reminded of when he looks at Quackity now is talent to persuade, to deceive, to act. He wants to cast aside the suspicion, blame it on his own bitterness and anger at being left behind, but he looks closer, further, tries to disassemble and re-assemble the Quackity he’s looking at.

And _God,_ Karl hates what he finds.

Karl could see something was wrong earlier, could see that there was something about him that made Quackity’s gaze so concerning, but he couldn’t quite place it. The behaviours that reveal themselves as Sapnap and Quackity continue to talk—they’re familiar in the worst way. This Quackity, he matches the Quackity of corrupted timelines: voice smooth like silk, eyes unreadable. Charismatic persona with a winning smile to match and—

 _Oh,_ Karl desperately wants to let himself be swept away by the illusion.

“Karl,” Sapnap says, startling him out of his daze. “You with us, still?” he asks, voice so gentle that Karl could cry. 

Instead, he nods, shakily. “Am now,” he says. “What’s happened?”

Quackity answers, instead of Sapnap. “I’m going to continue, but you guys can see what I’m doing. You can also tell me when I need to, uh, chill out? Yeah?” he says, voice soft, as though he’s talking to a trapped animal.

And Karl—Karl is only one man. Only human.

He gives in.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah. Okay.”

Quackity’s wings twitch forward, on instinct, and then he pulls back, forcefully. Karl nearly cries out at the sight. Instead, he just moves forward on his own, into Quackity’s lap. He grunts a little with the impact, shocked into stillness, before settling his hands onto Karl’s waist. His wings flutter a little before coming to rest around Karl’s shoulders.

And, _God,_ second chances have never worked on this server, but for Quackity?

Karl would risk it all.

♔

“There’s a memorial, today,” Quackity blurts out one day, over breakfast. “For Tommy.”

After a pause, Karl responds. “And what about it?” he says, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid to slip up and say the wrong thing. As though he’s afraid Quackity will break if he speaks to him wrong.

“I want to visit New L’Manberg for it.”

“Is it soon?” Karl asks.

“Tonight, actually. Ranboo told me when I was near the center. Didn’t get a chance to bring it up to you.”

“And you want us to come with you?” Karl asks, voice tinged with doubt. Like he already expects that Quackity will want to be left alone.

“I—” Quackity pauses. “No, actually. Can you two come with?”

Karl makes a noise of affirmation. “Yeah. Sap? Do you think you can do it?” 

Sapnap’s sat over his coffee, eyes glassy. He blinks, coughs. “I can come,” he says, voice raspy, quiet. “I want to come.”

“Okay,” Quackity says. “We should probably leave soon if we want to go and come back before night hits.”

The room falls silent.

“Right, yeah,” Karl says. “I’ll go get ready, then.” 

The three of them gradually vacate the area and begin getting ready. There’s a brisk efficiency in the air, a solemness—one they have come to recognize as the atmosphere the loss of life inevitably leaves behind. Every breath is thick with nostalgia, with regret, with idealization.

They have experienced too much death, the three of them.

They set off to the server center not long after—Quackity’s wings folded behind him in respect, Karl’s saturated neons switched out for the white of mourning, Sapnap’s distinctively long hair tied back into a low ponytail instead of his usually flashy style.

 _We make quite the funeral procession,_ Sapnap thinks, briefly, sadly. 

They make their rounds through the center—first conversing briefly with Bad and Sam, then arriving at Tommy’s old house. There are freshly planted flowers already gracing the pathway leading to his door, more arrangements stacked near the entryway. A chest sits nearby, nearly full with letters—condolences, apologies, requests.

Karl leaves a flower next to the chest, unplanted.

They continue making their way through, passing memorials and statues that are already in construction. Sapnap has to suppress a shudder everytime he looks to the hulking mass of obsidian on the horizon, the prison disgracing his home. 

Tommy’s deathbed.

Quackity rubs his thumb over the back of Sapnap’s hand, unfamiliarly gentle.

It’s late afternoon when they finally come to a stop in front of the Big Innit Hotel. Ranboo’s already there, head bowed, hands tucked into his pockets. His stance is graceful still, feet positioned perpendicularly to one another, shoulders firm despite the inward curl to his spine. The only emotional indicator, from the trio’s vantage, is his tail flicking wildly, nervous and frantic with energy.

Karl waves Quackity and Sapnap away. He waits until they’re a reasonable distance away before approaching Ranboo, noisily shuffling closer before tapping his shoulder. Ranboo startles and then lifts his face to look at Karl.

“Hi, Karl,” he says, and Karl has to suppress a gasp at what he sees. His cheeks are inflamed, newly-scarring and bumpy. The ridges that work their way down his face are deeper than before, and it looks _painful._

Karl must have done a pretty poor job of masking his surprise, because Ranboo smiles weakly at him, more grimace than anything. “Sorry, I must be a sight, huh?” he asks, wryly. “I’ve been meaning to get a mask or something. I know it’s not what you need to see right now.” 

His words strike a strange sadness in Karl’s mind. Something like _oh, this child has just lost a friend, much too early, and he’s still apologizing for how grieves._ Something like _none of this is right. None of this is fair._

Karl blinks. “Don’t say sorry,” he tells Ranboo, hoping that he’s communicating the real meaning of his words. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Ranboo begins rocking on his heels, back-and-forth, a steady metronomic motion. “I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he says, weakly. “I mean. I’ve just shut off entirely in that aspect, I think, but it’s screwing _badly_ with Tubbo, and—”

Karl sets a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder. Ranboo flinches, minutely, before relaxing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry. Just—” he waves a hand around— “It’s been a lot.” 

“I can only imagine,” Karl says, gently. He takes his hand off of Ranboo’s shoulder. “Well. I think we need to be on our way, but you know where to find me, yeah? Drop by whenever.” At Ranboo’s hesitant nod, Karl tacks on: “I mean it. Come to me for help.”

Ranboo nods once more, firmer this time. “I’ll see you, Karl,” he says.

When Karl rejoins Quackity and Sapnap, they’re already in the middle of a conversation.

“—fuck, okay, look,” Quackity says. “ _Our home_ is really far away. I will _inevitably_ have to come back here for business anyways. Why the fuck are you trying to stop me?”

Sapnap groans. _When did he get this bad?_ He thinks, bitterly, sadly. “Jesus, I just said it! Why is your priority doing business with the dude who literally usurped Tommy’s passion project? Tommy, who is _literally fucking dead,_ now!” he says, voice pitching up. He breathes in, out. “Motherfucker. He’s been dead for a fucking day.” he hisses.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?” Quackity sneers. “Tommy’s dead because of your self-professed _best friend,_ motherfucker! I don’t think you’re really in a position to be criticising me, especially when I’m doing it for the three of us. I’m not murdering children because I have anger issues, unlike Dream, I’m literally just finding a way for us to _survive.”_

Karl winces. “Q,” he says. “Stop that.”

Quackity turns to Karl. “I mean, come on, Karl,” he says, voice softening, buttery, melting. “Karl, you know I mean well, right? I just want to make sure that we have a chance at stability, at a peaceful future—”

“Stop.” 

It’s sickening how quickly Quackity’s face transforms from pleading, kind, loving to diamond-hard, emotionless. Karl’s seen this same metamorphosis—this _regression_ of Quackity’s personality—dozens of times before, and it never fails to unsettle him. Even Sapnap shudders, minutely, unconsciously—Karl feels the subtle movement besides him. 

“Fine, then,” Quackity says, voice cold. “Figure out how to fend for yourself.” It would be almost comical, how he leaves—neatly spinning about on his heel, wings swishing through the air—if Karl didn’t feel the finality in his tone. It settles, cold, weighted, in Karl’s stomach.

A death sentence and Quackity—its judge, its jury, its executioner.

Karl looks helplessly to Sapnap as Quackity takes off in flight. “Sap—Sapnap, I, I don’t know what to do,” he says, eyes wide, but Sapnap can already see his thought process, see what he’s decided to do before he says he’s going to do it.

“Sapnap, I have to find him,” he says, voice frantic. He’s twisting their engagement ring around his finger, a restless motion. Sapnap makes a weak noise of protest, but it goes ignored—Karl has already left, gone somewhere in the pursuit of a flighty hope.

And _God,_ Sapnap realizes, _this was always going to be how it ended, huh?_

Quackity’s chasing a future, creating a future—the one he wants, the one under his control. He’s always sought power, and it was fine, when it favored Karl and Sapnap, but it’s all gone a bit off the rails, now, huh?

Q and his low-lying fury, his restlessness, his penchant for revenge, his regression into bitterness, into destruction—only for _their_ gain, because he was always tired of their world, tired of getting hurt, tired of being left behind.

The past had mattered less and less to him, as time went on—he’d stopped referring to their friends as such, at some point, instead calling them allies, partners, coworkers, whatever other euphemism best characterized his greed.

Sapnap sighs. The wind picks up, at the same time, as though it sympathizes with him. 

Karl was better, at first glance—selfless, caring, working for the greater good. All those glorious protagonistic actions, for what? For living in the past, for forgetting everyone and everything he has ever valued?

He’s looking for a past that has never existed, an idealized one, viewed through rose-tinted lenses. It’s an age-old saying, that _hindsight is twenty-twenty_ , but it doesn’t seem to apply to Karl. He’s looking for an easy fix, for a restoration of the good-old days that had never even _existed,_ and he’s left behind everything in the present in the process.

And Sapnap? Well. He’s just left behind, isn’t he? Left in the dust, left in the present.

He watches Karl wear himself thin and watches Quackity lose himself and wonders what he did to deserve all this—what he did to deserve this destruction when it was all just starting to get better, when it was supposed to be their time for recovery, for peace, and instead—

Sapnap’s waiting. 

He _tries_ , he does—tries to help everyone around him and fails every time, pleading for Quackity to stop acting more and more like his ex, pleading for Karl to just tell him what's wrong. He lives in the present, but the present ignores him.

He's stuck with one fiance absent and becoming what he _swore_ he'd never be and with the other perpetually forgetting and lost and desperate and—

He just doesn’t _know_ how to move forward anymore.

The sun sets on the horizon, and Sapnap gives up hope.

**Author's Note:**

> AND THAT IS A FUCKING WRAP!
> 
> this has been a labor of love and also several feverish post-lore stream writing sessions, including but not limited to quackity's 16th stream!! this is actually ridiculously canon compliant considering that MUCH of this was synthesized a long while before any of this came to a head
> 
> would MASSIVELY appreciate a kudos and a comment if you can spare them, it's the least u could do if u've read this far :] love y'all
> 
> [silver/arisfocis's) tumblr](https://arisfocis.tumblr.com)  
> [silver/arisfocis's twitter](https://twitter.com/AR1SFOC1S)
> 
> [kayu/kyvtae's twitter](https://twitter.com/AR1SFOC1S)


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